Chapter 8
8
MICHAEL
My chest swells with primal satisfaction as her gaze slowly drags over my bare flesh. The tips of her ears and her entire face flush red, embarrassment clear as day, but she can’t seem to stop herself from checking me out.
Her gaze drops to my cock—already hardening for her—and she jerks her head up so fast it’s a miracle she doesn’t snap her neck, mortification warring with curiosity in her expression.
“See something you like?” I smirk, executing a slow turn that’s meant to tease her but really gives me a moment to wrestle back some control. I thought I’d gotten a handle on my body’s reaction to her in my time alone disposing of that asshole’s corpse, but apparently not. One look from her and I’m ready to combust.
When I face her again, her golden eyes are as wide as saucers. “Your tattoos… They’re everywhere,” she breathes, taking an unconscious step towards me. Every muscle in my body screams to close the distance, but I force myself to remain still, even as my heart pounds a hard staccato in my chest.
“Not quite everywhere,” I remind her, and her gaze automatically drops right back to my cock. Then—realizing what she’s doing—quickly squeezes her eyes shut. When she finally pries them open again, she stubbornly fixes them on a spot just over my shoulder.
Oh, as if I’d let that slide .
“What are you doing? Why are you not wearing any clothes?” The scandalized tone would be amusing if I wasn’t drowning in need.
“Eyes. On. Me.” I command, and when those beauties lock onto mine, it’s like being punched in the chest. I should know—I’ve been hit there before. Some magnetic force pulls me towards her, my resolve crumbling with each step. I need her scent on my skin like I need oxygen, crave her touch like an addict needs their next fix.
“How can you just walk out… naked?” she huffs. Her eyes stay on mine, but I can see how hard she fights not to flick them lower as I close the distance between us.
I raise a brow. “I was showering, in my private bathroom, in my bedroom, and you walked in. Didn’t even knock.” When I finally reach her, my hand rises to her neck—not to harm, but to claim. My fingers barely graze her skin before she skitters back like a frightened bird, throat working beneath where my hand had almost touched.
A smile curves my lips. Bad move, little birdy. Now I want to chase.
I step towards her. She steps back.
I move again. So does she.
We do this dance, and I’m enjoying every second because I know soon— ha. The back of her knees knocks against the bedframe, and too caught up in me, she loses her balance, falling ass first on my bed.
Satisfaction thrums through me because this position puts her face-to-cock with me. Her color goes even deeper, and she slaps a hand over her face, eyes squeezing shut again like that’ll erase reality. Fuck. How far down does that blush go? Does it paint her tits? Trail down her belly? Stain the lips of her cunt?
“I–I’m sorry.” Her words snap my attention. “I didn’t realize you’d gotten home, and—woah—” She trails off, fingers parting just slightly to peek at me as I run my knuckles down her flushed cheek, memorizing the silk of her skin.
Yeah, I’m fucked.
“Your skin is so soft, so smooth.” The words roll out before I can think better of it. Christ, she’s so sweet I want to consume her whole.
“Uh…” She clears her throat and inches up the bed. My hand falls from her cheek, but I follow, walking in between her thighs. “M–Michael.”
The way she says my name—breathy, uncertain—ignites something inside me. I lean down, and with one firm push to her chest, she’s flat on her back. Right where I want her to be. Where she belongs.
“Wh–what are you doing?” Her question comes out breathless as I straddle her hips and slowly crawl over her on the bed, her pulse skittering wildly in her throat.
My cock drags up her shirt— my shirt—and a full-body shudder rips through me as pre-cum leaks out, my brain short circuiting as her sweet scent fills my nostrils. “You never answered my question.” It’s a miracle I don’t choke on my own tongue as I force the words past my teeth. “Why. Are you. In my room?”
“I wasn’t–I mean, I didn’t…” Her small hands push against my chest, and the contact nearly undoes me. “W–wait. Hold on. I can’t think when you’re this close. I can’t breathe.”
My head falls heavy to her neck as a groan tears from my throat. Neither can I.
Fuck, I haven’t been able to breathe or think straight since I saw her photo. Since I started a shrine to her, collecting every scrap of information, every preference, every detail of her life. “What if I don’t want you to do either of those things?” I rub the tip of my nose down the silky flesh of her neck, and she trembles beneath me, stoking my lust higher until my vision swims.
“W–what?” Her fingers dig into my damp chest, and the violent urge to rip away those pants and thrust into her blindsides me. I have a high libido, sure, but I’ve never been this fucking out of control with a woman before. It’s dangerous. I shouldn’t.
No.
I push myself away from her, spinning towards the bathroom without another word. Goddamn it. Yanking at my hair, I welcome the sharp pain—anything to cut through this lustful haze threatening to drown me.
Back in the bathroom, I snatch a towel off the bar and wrap it around my waist. I knew she was in my room—heard her come in—and deliberately walked out naked to startle her. But the plan backfired spectacularly.
Now I’m hard as fuck, and I can’t have her. Not yet.
When I return, Gianna is exactly where I left her, flat on her back and chest heaving as she blinks dazedly at the ceiling. A small smile tugs at my mouth, the sight sending fresh heat surging through me, but her obvious reaction soothes something in my ego. At least I’m not suffering alone.
“Better?” I ask.
She turns her head towards me, and I wave at my towel, but she just stares blankly, like she doesn’t understand me. My smile widens as I repeat my question.
Understanding finally dawns in her eyes. “I guess.” Reluctance drags at the words as she leverages herself upright, putting precious distance between us. I let her, fighting the urge to prowl closer. “I’ll, um, just…” She gestures vaguely at the door, already angling towards it. “…go back to my own room.”
“Mmmm.” I watch her fidget for a moment. Fuck, I could listen to that adorable little stammer all day. “You do that. But just so you know, Gianna, I don’t like people invading my privacy.” Truth. I harden my voice as I continue, “If it were anyone else, I’d snap their fucking neck. So, unless you want me to fuck you, stay out of my room.”
Her throat bobs. She nods way too fast, then ducks her head and flees, like a little bird finally realizing it’s been trapped with a predator. I watch her go, mesmerized by the way her ass jiggles in my borrowed shorts.
Wait.
Is she not wearing panties?
I squeeze my eyes shut as the door closes behind her. Fucking hell. I just wanted to come home and get some sleep. But now? Now my cock is throbbing, and sleep is a goddamn joke.
Dragging a hand down my face, I exhale sharply.
I could go back into my bathroom and jerk off, but I already know—I know —I won’t be able to orgasm without thoughts of her in my head.
And I’m not ready to have her invade my brain like that.
So I just suck it up, grab a pair of pants from my walk-in closet, and pull them on, wincing as the fabric scrapes against my sensitive cock.
After getting dressed, I leave my bedroom for my office. The path takes me past her room, and I hesitate at the doorway, my hand clenching at my side.
An immense need surges through me, a primal urge to knock on her door and continue where I stopped.
I'd give her so much pleasure.
My cock jerks against my thigh, and I yank my hair again. “Fuck me.” I turn away sharply, forcing myself to keep moving.
When I reach my office, I press my thumb on the panel, and the door unlocks, swinging open automatically. I shut myself inside and collapse into my chair.
Now. Focus .
Unlike my office back in Manhattan with its wall of screens, this space is minimal. A single computer sits on my desk, untouched most of the time since I prefer to spend my hours reading in the library when I’m here, escaping the noise of the city.
I power up the computer and the screen flares to life almost instantly. As I go to check my emails, my phone begins to ring—Rafael again. Christ.
“What the fuck, Rafael? It's been barely six hours since our last conversation.”
“I just find it hard to believe you haven’t really found her yet.”
“I deeply appreciate your unwavering faith in my tracking skills.” Not really. “But she’s a smart one, okay? There’s a reason she’s remained hidden for two months.”
“Hmm.” Pure skepticism in that sound.
I rub my temple. “Just give me some fucking space, okay? Don’t call me like you’re my goddamn wife, checking if I’m cheating on her.”
Rafael chuckles. “You have a reputation for finding people who don’t want to be found. And finding them quickly. So pardon my disbelief.”
My fingers drum the desk as I search for a way to get him off my back without mentioning Emilia. But Rafael is a stubborn fucker and like a bloodhound with lies—he smells them from miles away, and once he catches the scent, he doesn’t let go. So no choice but to play this card.
But I enjoy it nonetheless. “If you were so confident in my skills, why have you been trying to stop me from finding Emily?” Although truthfully, he hasn’t been the one stopping me.
I’ve hunted for her relentlessly since the incident with Maximo and Elira a couple of months ago. But she’s proving impossible to find. Whoever she’s working for—whatever government organization is protecting her—they’re pulling out all the stops to keep her hidden.
The call cuts off abruptly, just like it did during our last call a few hours ago, and I chuckle. That’s what he gets for trying to rush me.
I’m not nearly ready to be away from Gianna yet, damn it, and I refuse to be rushed.